


What's In A Name?

by the_diggler



Series: Halloween in Bondage [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anonymity, Bottom Castiel, Crack, Dom Dean, Exhibitionism, Fluff, Food Sex, Handcuffs, Japanese Rope Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nipple Clamps, PWP, Piercings, Polski | Polish, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Shibari, Shower Sex, Smut, Spanking, Tattoos, Translation Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_diggler/pseuds/the_diggler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Halloween, so everyone's out to get laid, but while Dean's always preferred anonymous sex with strangers, he thinks it might be a little difficult to find someone who can deal with his particular tastes... until a certain mystery angel comes his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [CZYMŻE JEST IMIĘ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106451) by [patusinka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patusinka/pseuds/patusinka)



> _Reference images for the tattoos, toys, positions etc mentioned in this fic are[posted at my tumblr](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/tagged/HiB-What's-In-A-Name). Some images may be NSFW. A complete list of links is indexed [at my livejournal](http://the-diggler.livejournal.com/55800.html#HiBwian)._
> 
> This is maybe v3.1 of this fic now? I wrote this before I really found my rhythm again, so I keep coming back and trying to fix it up :s The idea originally popped into my head after coming across a bunch of prompts somewhere for Goth Club AUs - PVC, leather, piercings, tattoos, eyeliner... the works. I'd also just rewatched Baz Luhrmann's Romeo & Juliet, so it all fused together and became this. With a little Queer As Folk on top. It was just meant to be a cracky little thing, but as usual it got kinda outta control :S
> 
> **WARNING** : The next chapter contains bondage, to be followed by BDSM in the last chapter. So if that isn't your thing, just don't read those chapters - this was originally a oneshot, so each following chapter was written like a oneshot as well, with its own kind of conclusion. It's all just trashy, if not cracky smut, with very minimal plot to begin with. So it's **NOT REALISTIC BDSM** either. If you're picky about that kind of thing, you might want to look elsewhere as well!

~

 _Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!_  
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.  
\-- Romeo, Act I scene v

~

  
“Dean, hurry _up!_ ” Sam’s voice whines through Dean’s bedroom door.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Dean grumbles as he adjusts one of the fake metal armor pads on his shoulders. Twisting around, he makes sure the silver chain-mail shirt he’s wearing is hanging correctly and not caught in the back of his matching costume pants, then heads out to the living room to meet his brother.  
  
Dean freezes.  
  
Sam’s lower face and neck are smeared with fake blood, but his actual costume only seems to consist of a pair of black leather pants and a thin white button down, hanging open and exposing his bare torso – which is where Dean’s gaze has halted, in _true_ horror.  
  
“Dude. Is that _glitter?_  
  
Sam’s chest is _covered_ in it. It’s even in his hair, falling all over his forehead and into his eyelashes.  
  
“‘Tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh,” Sam grins. Dean rolls his eyes.  
  
“Okay, Sam. I get that you’re… the vampire Lestat or whoever, but _really?_ Is this what you do to get laid?” Dean asks, eyebrow raised.  
  
“Oh come on, Dean! It’s Halloween! _Everyone_ is out to get laid tonight!” Sam whines.  
  
“Can’t argue there,” Dean agrees. But he also gets the feeling he’s going to be spending the night beating a mob of creepers away from his not-so-little brother instead. Which is partially why he doesn’t usually go clubbing with Sam.  
  
“Here you go,” Sam says, handing him a [silver domino mask](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/135429783384/).  
  
“What’s this for?” he asks, cringing at the shiny piece of plastic.  
  
“It’s a masquerade event, Dean,” Sam replies, pulling his own glittered monstrosity over his eyes.  
  
“Riiight,” Dean drawls. “Why are we doing this again?” he deadpans as he slips the mask on. Sam sighs at him.  
  
“We promised Ellen and Jo we’d go. It’s for their chapter of [PFLAG](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/PFLAG).”  
  
Dean huffs out a sigh in defeat. Sam would do anything for the Harvelles. But then again, so would Dean. The mother and daughter had done a lot for the Winchester brothers over the years, so they’re practically family in his books.  
  
“But why did they have to hold it at Queen Mab’s? I hate clubs. The only kind of _‘club’_ I want to go to is The Pit,” Dean grumbles as they head to the door. Sam rolls his eyes at the mention of Dean’s favourite haunt.  
  
“Don’t worry, Dean. It’s Halloween. I’m sure there’ll still be enough leather and chains at Queen Mab’s, even for _you_.”  
  
“There better be. ‘Cause you know what I always say Sam...”  
  
Sam heaves a put-upon sigh, having heard it a million times before.  
  
“…Everything’s better with a little bit of metal!” Dean grins, sticking out his tongue-stud with a suggestive waggle.  
  
Sam shoots a bitch-face over his shoulder as he heads out the door.  
  
~  
  
As soon as they enter Queen Mab’s, Dean’s ears are assaulted by the throbbing beat of dance music instead of the scream of guitars he’s used to, and he has to blink his eyes a few times before he adjusts to the flashing lights, streamers, balloons, and friggin’ _glitter_ all over everything. It’s like Mardi Gras in there.  
  
Dean huffs a chuckle, shaking his head at all the hoopla. Gripping the handle of his fake sword for courage, he strides toward the railing in front of them, scanning the dark mass of gyrating bodies on the floor below for the evening’s hostesses. Sam doesn’t do anything to help him though, already bobbing to the music beside him and looking for all the world like he just wants to go and make merry already. Dean rolls his eyes in fond exasperation. Regardless of his size, his brother is such a twink.  
  
“Sam! Dean!” a voice calls, and they turn to see the Harvelles coming up the steps to meet them, dressed as the two parts of a cracked egg. Dean snorts at the sight of them.  
  
“Well aren’t you just my knight in shining armor?” Jo smirks, kissing Dean on the cheek.  
  
“Hey, Jo,” he smiles, hugging her back.  
  
“Thanks for coming, Dean. It really means a lot,” Ellen says, coming in for her own hug.  
  
“No problem, Ellen. The place looks great. But if I see Bobby getting his ‘bear’ on I’m leaving,” he jokes. Ellen laughs.  
  
“Omigod I love this song!” Sam suddenly exclaims. “ _Young hearts! Run free!_ ” he sings along loudly, “ _Never be hung up, hung up like my man and meeee!_ ” Jo sings with him as they run down the stairs to the dance floor.  
  
Dean shares a wry smile with Ellen before heading down to the bar.  
  
~  
  
Dean has to admit, Ellen and Jo have put on a great event, even though it isn’t really his thing. He can see Sam’s head happily bouncing up and down above the throng of people on the dancefloor, and he’s just starting to relax into his whisky, wondering if he might find some action in the back room… when Bobby shows up, and Dean nearly chokes on his drink.  
  
Bobby’s decked out in full gay-biker gear – matching black leather pants, jacket, and cap – but he’s also got the full BDSM chains strapped across his bare chest, just like [the guy from the Village People](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/135438311409/).  
  
And it’s not like Dean isn’t used to seeing that kind of getup at The Pit. It’s just that, seeing it on the man that’s practically been a father to him is wrong on so many levels, Dean can’t even begin to process.  
  
Maybe not _everything_ is better with a little bit of metal.  
  
Dean makes sure to look Bobby only in the eyes as he gives the man a gruff hug, and immediately orders another stiff drink. After a few more hard swallows, he’s just beginning to think he can relax again… when Bobby opens his mouth and says, “Well _Hello_ there, Officer.”  
  
Dean doesn’t want to know. He really doesn’t. But when he hears Rufus laugh in response he knows he can’t get away with ignoring the man, no matter how much he _doesn’t_ want to turn around. But when he does, he’s greeted by another remnant [from the Village People](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/135438372049/) – Rufus decked out in full, _tight_ , motorcycle policeman’s gear, complete with helmet – and Dean wants to burn his eyes out again.  
  
“Sorry I’m late, daddy-bear,” Rufus grins. Bobby snorts at the other man and Dean sighs at the heavens.  
  
“I think you’re a bit over-ripe to be passing off as anyone’s cub, _Captain_ ,” Bobby smirks before leaning up to kiss his partner.  
  
“Save it for Valentine’s Day, boys,” Dean snarks.  
  
“Son, you can only _hope_ to find a man as good as I’ve got someday,” Bobby grins.  
  
“Why have _one_ , when I can have _many?_ ” Dean smirks back. Bobby rolls his eyes. It’s an exchange they’ve repeated countless times before – Bobby constantly urging him to find someone special and settle down, and Dean espousing the joys of anonymous sex with strangers. _Many_ strangers. With emphasis on ‘anonymous.’ He stopped asking for names years ago. Only the occasional safe-word.  
  
It’s not that Dean is completely against the idea of settling on one person. It just isn’t easy finding ‘someone special’ with the kinds of things he’s into.  
  
Dean sighs, leaning back against the bar. He wonders if it’s too early to make an escape and head to The Pit. Not that there aren’t options for him here. It’s just a bit difficult to think about having any kind of _real_ fun with his friends and family around. He starts to scan the dancefloor again for the top of Sammy’s head, but just as he does, the strobe lights kick in, and all Dean can see is the black-white flashing of bodies jumping up and down in that eerie strobe-lit slow motion…  
  
And one man standing stock-still in the middle of the undulating mass, staring straight at him.  
  
Shiny, black, _snug_ PVC pants… A tight, black, thinly meshed shirt revealing every line of a leanly toned torso… The small circle of a [nipple ring](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/158612402319) pushing out through the sheer material… Plush, _full_ lips, parting slightly as a tongue darts out to wet them… Large, unmistakably _blue_ eyes, eating Dean up through the holes of a [black cloth-mask](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/135429903824/)… And _wings_ … Large, black, feathery [wings attached to the man’s back](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/135430000669/), casting dark, strobe-lit shadows on the dancing forms behind.  
  
Holy _fuck_.  
  
Dean leaves his drink at the bar. Walks slowly towards the other man. And just as Dean stops in front of him, the strobe lights cut out, and Dean is assaulted by the full force of that hungry gaze.  
  
The dark angel steps forward, leaning in until Dean can feel lips brushing against his ear, and then a gravel-deep voice is pouring into it, sending shivers down Dean’s spine. “I’ve been watching you all night.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean murmurs, leaning in to press his lips to the other man’s ear in return. “Well I’d love to watch _you_ for the rest of the night.”  
  
The angel leans back to look at Dean, a slow smile curving across his lips, and then the man starts moving, swinging his hips side to side in time to the music. Grinning, Dean sways with him, matching his every movement, and the curve of the man’s lips grows more and more inviting. When Dean takes the other man by his hips, pulling him closer, the man presses himself against Dean’s body, one leg sliding through Dean’s thighs as they thrust their hips in sync.  
  
Now, Dean’s never been much for dancing. Not that he’s bad at it or anything, it’s just not his thing. But the way the other man’s hips move together with his, easy as liquid, the pupils of his blue eyes blown as he levels Dean with an unwavering gaze… Well, Dean’s already hardening in his pants.  
  
He knows the other man can feel it, pressed together as they are. But the man merely smiles at him again, slow and lazy and knowingly, before he backs off, giving himself just enough space to turn around and push his backside into Dean’s crotch. Hissing at the sudden pressure, Dean grabs onto the angel’s hips and pulls him in close, rubbing himself against the man’s _oh_ -so-tight rear as they continue dancing.  
  
Dean’s fully hard now, grinding into the angel as the feathers of the man’s wings brush and caress his arms. He groans into the back of the other man’s neck, long and heavy as he drags his lips against the angel’s skin, and the man reaches up, grabbing the back of Dean’s neck to hold him there. When the other man tilts his neck sideways in silent request for more, Dean gives it to him, letting his lips linger across the man’s neck in between the gasping kisses he presses into it, trailing up to the angel’s earlobe and sending shivers through the other man’s body with his heavy breaths.  
  
He wants to feel more. Wants to know if the other man is just as turned on as _he_ is. Dean takes a quick glance around at the people dancing around them, but no one is paying attention. It’s dark amidst the press of all these bodies, and everyone is too busy doing their own thing. Some of them are probably doing the exact same thing Dean is doing with his angel right now. So Dean goes for it.  
  
Letting go of the other man’s hip, Dean slides his hand up the inside of the angel’s thigh. The man gasps, dropping his head back even further over Dean’s shoulder, his fingers stroking and caressing Dean’s forearm in encouragement. So Dean slides his hand up even more, slowly, until his palm is cupping the other man’s crotch.  
  
Dean growls. The man is just as hard as Dean is, and Dean presses into it, palming it up and down in time with the slow-throbbing beat of the music. The other man’s hips shudder against Dean, and his fingers slide down Dean’s arm to cover Dean’s hand, pressing it down even harder as he rubs himself against it.  
  
By now, Dean knows they’ve probably attracted the attention of at least _some_ of the people dancing close by, but that just adds to the thrill. It’s like a dirty little secret – shielded from his friends and family by the press of strangers around them, any one of them watching as he makes his claim on the angel in his arms, _hands_ – and Dean can’t get enough of it. His lips become more needy, more covetous, until he’s all but sucking on the other man’s neck. Finally, Dean just bites, teeth tugging at the man’s flesh in demand.  
  
Gasping, the angel pulls away from him, and for a second Dean thinks he’s gone too far. But then the man whirls around, pressing himself flush against Dean’s body again, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck with a moan as their lengths press together once more. Dean grins, reaching down to palm the tight curves of the other man’s rear as the pulse of the music sets their rhythm again. Their lips nip at each other, playful and teasing, as their bodies remain locked together, grinding their erections against each other with a languid, maddening friction.  
  
Dean’s panting hard now, his tongue practically lolling out of his mouth, and suddenly the man’s eyes go wide as he looks down at it.  
  
Dean huffs out a laugh. He’s so used to having the tongue-stud there that he forgets it sometimes comes as a surprise to other people. But the other man seems to love it, the way his eyes light up upon seeing it. When Dean teasingly sticks his tongue out a little further, the man dives for his mouth, latching on with his lips as his tongue searches Dean’s for the little piece of silver.  
  
Eventually Dean has to break away for air, burying his face into the other man’s neck and gasping for purchase. He can feel the other man’s breaths against his ear, just as harsh, and all they can do for a moment is clutch at each other, grind at each other with their slow-moving hips.  
  
But all too soon Dean’s lips get needy again. Reaching out with his tongue, he rubs his stud under the back of the other man’s earlobe, drawing the flesh into his mouth. The man trembles against him, angling his neck to give Dean better access, and Dean sucks the lobe deeper, caressing it with the stud on his tongue and nipping at the skin every now and then with his teeth.  
  
The man is already groaning into his ear, rubbing himself up against Dean even more insistently, but there’s something Dean’s wanted to do since he first laid eyes on the angel. Sliding his hand under the angel’s shirt, he hitches the material up the man’s torso, until his fingertips finally find the pierced nipple there.  
  
Dean brushes his thumb against it, and the man lets out a shaky moan, his entire body quivering in response. Then Dean pinches it, and the man’s body stiffens with a throaty gasp of surprise. Dean doesn’t give the angel a break though, rolling the nub in his fingers and tugging relentlessly on the little ring of metal, and before long the other man is practically hanging off him, totally at Dean’s mercy as he relies on Dean for support.  
  
It’s ridiculously hot, the way the angel is panting and moaning wantonly against his ear, fucking him through their pants with Dean’s hands all over his bared torso for anyone to see. Dean finds himself so fucking close to the edge of coming, he can barely even stand anymore.  
  
He gives the man’s earlobe one last tug in his teeth, before locking their lips together again, devouring the other man’s groans with his mouth. Letting go of the man’s hip, he slides his hand down the angel’s backside, fingers circling the man’s entrance through his pants… and then Dean presses up, _hard_.  
  
The man throws his head back with a strangled cry, and Dean keeps prodding, rhythmically, with every thrust of his hips, until the man’s entire body stiffens, spasms, and shudders in climax.  
  
It’s fucking beautiful. And all it takes is a few more rough thrusts, before Dean is coming in his pants as well, his eyes never leaving the angel’s flushed, climax-thrown face.  
  
The man comes back to him slowly, blue eyes dark and glazed, still panting as he catches his breath. Dean kisses him through it, soft and unhurried, holding him close as their bodies still tremor with aftershocks.  
  
He can’t believe it. This mystery man has made him come ridiculously hard and neither one of them has even taken off their clothes yet. Hell, he hasn’t even seen all of the guy’s _face_. Sure, Dean’s no stranger to anonymous sex, but he wasn’t expecting _this._  
  
Screw it. Dean _needs_ to see this guy’s face… among other things. Lifting his hands from the man’s hips, Dean slides his thumbs under the bottom of the mask-- when suddenly the other man furrows his eyebrows, frowning at something over Dean’s shoulder.  
  
Dean turns around, confused, and through the spaces between all the dancing bodies Dean sees his brother at the bar, a furious expression on his face. In an instant Dean’s pushing through the crowd to get closer, ripping off his mask so he can see better. There’s a blond man leaning into his brother’s space, wearing a sparkly red vest, devil horns, and a drunken leer on his face.  
  
“I said _NO!_ ” Sam yells, shoving the man hard in the chest.  
  
Dean doesn’t get there fast enough to stop the man from cracking Sam across the jaw. But as his brother reels back, Dean jumps in and punches the other guy in the face, sending him to the floor with a bloody nose.  
  
“Lucifer!” Dean hears from somewhere behind him. Then Dean’s mystery angel is dropping to the devil’s side, pulling off his own mask and pressing the thin strip of cloth to the bleeding man’s nose.  
  
Dean watches in disbelief at this turn of events, stunned that his angel has some kind of connection to this guy. He doesn’t have long to process it though, before he senses Sam come to stand by his side, and he turns to check his brother over.  
  
The drunken man’s blow was sloppy and loose, so Sam appears relatively unscathed. His brother is tougher than he seems, and Sam probably won’t even bruise from it. But when Dean sees the bouncer coming their way, he knows they’re in trouble for the violent altercation, regardless of who provoked it.  
  
As the bouncer escorts them off the premises, Dean’s eyes search for his mystery angel again, and he finds the other man leading the devil guy away through the dispersing crowd of onlookers. The angel glances over his shoulder at Dean as he leaves, and even though the other man’s face is filled with regret, Dean can’t help but think the man is even more gorgeous than he could’ve possibly imagined.  
  
He finds himself wishing they could’ve had just a little more time together.

  
_~ tbc_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In case you skipped the warnings, the next chapter contains bondage, to be followed by BDSM in the last chapter. So if that isn't your thing, just don't read those chapters - this was originally a oneshot, so each following chapter was written like a oneshot as well, with its own kind of conclusion. It's all just trashy, if not cracky smut, with very minimal plot to begin with. So it's **NOT REALISTIC BDSM** either. If you're picky about that kind of thing, you might want to look elsewhere as well!


	2. Chapter 2

~

 _But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?_  
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!  
\-- Romeo, Act II scene ii

~

  
Dean’s not sorry about bashing that guy’s face in. He really isn’t. Even though Sammy spent the rest of the night bitching about how he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself – and even though Dean wouldn’t admit his brother _was_ perfectly capable – Dean knows that given the same circumstances, he’d do the exact same thing in a heartbeat.  
  
But he still can’t get those regret-filled blue eyes out of his head. Not for the whole week. He’d gotten damn right mopey about it too. To the point that when he went to The Roadhouse for lunch one day, Ellen actually kicked him out, complaining that his mopey-face was putting off potential patrons from coming into the diner.  
  
And Dean doesn’t _do_ mopey, damnit. He’s always been more of a ‘grab your guns and go get em’ kind of guy. But how was he supposed to go find someone when he didn’t even have a _name_ to start with, let alone a phone number? And when did he become the kind of person who even _wanted_ to find one of his random hookups in the first place?!  
  
It was just… those friggin’ _eyes_.  
  
Well, there was also that _face_. Those lips… That voice… Those wanton moans in his ear… The way the man had trembled so responsively to every touch, uncaring of the crowd around them as he pressed himself against Dean’s body like they were the only two people in the room, grinding against Dean like his life depended on it and latching onto Dean’s mouth like the man needed Dean’s breath to survive…  
  
_Fuck_.  
  
Okay, so maybe he _had_ gotten a little obsessed.  
  
Which left him with only one option, really.  
  
So when the weekend finally comes around, Dean finds himself at Queen Mab’s again. His Halloween costume has been traded in for his usual black leather pants and black t-shirt, and the place is marginally more bearable now that the friggin’ glitter isn’t everywhere anymore, but the flashing lights and electronic dance music are still a bit too off-putting for Dean’s liking.  
  
He’s not going anywhere though. He just leans back against the bar, slowly sipping his whisky – and it’s surprisingly easy to ignore the appraising looks and half-smiles of invitation thrown his way, shutting down the bolder offers for a drink or a dance with the reply that he’s waiting for someone – and just keeps his eyes trained on the entrance above.  
  
Dean’s not really sure if it’s him at first. But he gets enough of a glimpse at a hard jawline, a hint of a plush mouth, the shadow of dark tousled hair – that his chest leaps a little in hope. The man walks up to the railing above and rests his hands on it for a moment, scanning the dance floor below, and Dean thinks he recognizes that lean frame underneath the long-sleeved black button down and matching leather pants, his breath speeding up in anticipation. Then one of the spotlights from the dancefloor shines right on the man’s face, and Dean stops breathing altogether.  
  
It’s him.  
  
Dean’s mystery angel.  
  
And he’s even more gorgeous now than Dean remembers.  
  
The man doesn’t see Dean straight away, casually greeting a few people as they pass by, so Dean downs the rest of his drink, and makes his way to the stairs. Halfway up, Dean sees a blond man stop beside his angel, kissing him on both cheeks in greeting the way the French do. But when the blond rests his hands on the other man’s hips in too-familiar intimacy, every fibre in Dean’s body seems to possessively growl ‘ _Mine_ ’.  
  
It’s then that the angel’s gaze finally connects with his. And when the man sees Dean standing there, his eyes flare with pleased recognition, the side of his mouth slowly curving up into a smile. He murmurs something to the blond, not even looking at him, then steps away from him, coming to meet Dean at the top of the stairs. He doesn't stop until he's well up into Dean’s personal space, and for a moment they just look at each other, taking in the other’s features, remembering, and _wanting_.  
  
“I’ve been waiting for you all night,” Dean blurts out breathlessly, not giving a second thought to how pathetic he may sound. The other man doesn’t seem to care though, leaning forward to capture Dean’s mouth in an urgent, greedy kiss. Dean groans into it, wrapping his arms around the other man’s back to pull him flush as the man reaches up to cup his face. And when they finally stop for air the man’s hands just hold him there, blue eyes roaming over his features again as they pant hotly against each other’s lips.  
  
“I was hoping I’d see you again,” the man murmurs in that gravel-deep voice of his. Dean can’t help but grin as he leans in for another kiss, this time slow, taking more time to taste the other man’s lips and rediscover how they feel against his own.  
  
Eventually the other man lowers his hands from Dean’s face, taking a deep breath as he leans back and re-establishes a little space between them. “I must apologise for Lucifer’s behavior last week,” the man murmurs apologetically. “My brother has always been something of a trouble-maker.”  
  
“Lives up to his name, huh?” Dean chuckles. But it’s mostly laughter of relief. Not just for the apology, but also for finally learning the truth about the relationship between the two men. A tiny voice he’d been trying to ignore had been worried the two might have been involved or something.  
  
The other man huffs out a laugh in response, before giving him a cautious smile. “Was your… friend… alright?” the man asks, and Dean huffs another laugh when he realizes the other man must have had the same worry.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean grins. “My brother is tougher than he looks,” he tells the man, stressing the word ‘brother’ pointedly.  
  
“Oh,” the other man replies, a pleased smile lighting up his face. And damn if Dean doesn’t find himself smiling stupidly back at the man.  
  
“Listen, I know you just got here… but you wanna go someplace?” Dean asks.  
  
The man doesn’t even pause to think, his blue eyes flashing heat as he nods in response.  
  
~  
  
Dean could’ve easily dragged the man to some dark corner of the back room at Queen Mab’s. He knows the other man wouldn’t have objected, not after they’d fucked each other through their pants on the middle of the dance floor last week. But Dean also knows he doesn’t want a rushed and half-clothed quickie surrounded by whatever other ‘distractions’ might be happening around them.  
  
No, Dean wants to take his time claiming the man. Have the man spread out before him on his own bed, naked and writhing for only Dean’s eyes to see.  
  
And he wants to test the man. Discover his limits, his breaking points, how to put him back together again…  
  
This requires _no_ distractions.  
  
This requires tools.  
  
As soon as they’re back at Dean’s apartment they’re pressed up against the door, gasping into each other’s mouths like drowning men and grinding into each other to ease the waiting ache that had built up on the way from Queen Mab’s… over the whole night… the entire _week_. When Dean actually has to shove the man away from him for air, the resulting glint in the other man’s eyes from the rough treatment just makes Dean want to forget about the need to breathe altogether, and die from the press of the other man’s mouth again.  
  
But Dean has plans for this responsive little angel. So instead he fists his hand into the man’s hair, holding the other man’s greedy mouth away, and presses the man into the door with the weight of his hips. Reaching up between their bodies, he brushes his thumb over the man’s shirt where the nipple ring juts out at the material, and pressed together as they are he feels every bit of the tremor that runs through the other man’s body at the touch.  
  
Dean grins, slowly unbuttoning the man’s shirt. “I’m gonna take a shower. And you’re gonna come with me, so I can rub myself all over you while I put my fingers in you,” he commands lowly.  
  
The man sucks in a sharp breath, his pupils blowing out even further as he nods in agreement.  
  
Dean’s grin widens. Responsive _and_ obedient. This is shaping up well.  
  
Yanking the man away from the door, Dean drags him to the bathroom, not stopping until he has the other man pressed against the sink counter and they’re at each other’s mouths again. This time when the inevitable need for air resurfaces Dean doesn’t waste the moment, taking the opportunity to pull off his t-shirt before diving in again. But this time it’s the other man who pushes him back, with unexpected strength, and Dean blinks at him in surprise. The man is looking down at Dean’s chest with an appreciative gaze, and Dean’s about to make some snarky comment about ‘liking the view’ or something, but is cut off when the man’s fingers reach up to his chest, tentatively touching the skin over his heart.  
  
Dean looks down at the [tattoo](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/135430083504/just-a-reminder) there, watching the other man’s fingers caress the lines of the star with admiration. When he feels the man’s gaze on his face again he looks back up into those blue eyes, and the man gives him a soft, secretive smile, confusing Dean for a moment. Then the man’s hands go up to his own shirt, slowly sliding it down his arms, and the mirror reveals inked lines all the way down his back… in the shape of wings.  
  
Dean gapes a little as he takes in the man’s [tattooed back](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/135430056144/). His fingers reach up of their own accord, tracing down the lines of the inked feathers, and the man arches and keens softly at the touch. The wings are beautiful. The man is beautiful. Dean suddenly wants to take him right there in front of the mirror, so he can look at those amazing wings and those captivating blue eyes at the same time.  
  
But the sense of urgency has shifted around them now, more than just desperate need, transmuted into something more exploratory. This is just where Dean wants the man. Curious, open, and pliant.  
  
Dean grins as he starts unbuckling the man’s pants, pushing everything off as the other man reaches down to do the same for him. Freed from the restraining leather of their clothes Dean leads them to the shower, and as they wait for the water to warm they pull each other flush, mouthing at each other’s moans as their lengths line up between their naked bodies.  
  
Finally Dean pulls the other man under the spray, pushing him back against the shower wall and pressing up against him again. Reaching for the soap, he begins lathering down the parts of the other man’s body he can reach, but he’s loathe to separate from where their hips are connected, enjoying the water-slick slide of hardness against hardness. Not that he has a choice, when the other man wraps a leg around his waist, holding him close to soap his back in return.  
  
Grabbing the other man’s thigh, Dean hitches the man’s leg more securely around his waist, then slides his hand down the cleft of the other man’s ass. The man lets out a throaty gasp when Dean’s soap-slicked fingers press against his entrance, and enjoying the man’s responsiveness Dean teases him a little, stroking and circling the opening a few times before finally pushing in. The other man groans loudly then, his head practically slamming into the shower wall as his eyes roll back in pleasure. And Dean keeps thrusting, flexing and searching until he finds the spot that makes the man shudder so hard, he’s sure the man would have fallen if Dean hadn’t been holding him up.  
  
The man locks his gaze onto Dean again, something fierce in his eyes as he pants raggedly under the spray of water. Then he grabs at Dean’s free hand, and lifts it to his lips, taking Dean’s fingers into his mouth with a greedy gulp.  
  
Dean groans as the man sucks and laves and _moans_ around his digits, sending shivers straight down his arm to his straining erection. The image and the invitation it implies is too much for Dean, and he has to pull away altogether before he comes all over the man. It’s way too soon. Dean is supposed to be the one pushing the other man to his limits here, not the other way around.  
  
Dean flips the man around, pressing his chest into the shower wall. For a moment he just takes in the way the water runs down the man’s heaving back, rippling over the man’s tattooed wings and creating the illusion of movement amongst the feathers - like they’re real and alive and trembling against his back. It would be so easy to slide into the other man right now. Lord knows Dean’s cock twitches at the sight like that’s all it wants to do. But instead he takes in a few deep breaths, steadying himself as he tries to regain control.  
  
Those wings deserve attention. Reverence. Respect. Dean leans forward, pressing his lips to the back of the other man’s neck, and mouths downward, licking out at the man’s skin and dragging his tongue-stud over the inky black lines. The man shivers under the thoroughness which Dean tongues down the feathers with, and as Dean kneels on the floor, working all the way down to the wingtips curving over the man’s hips, the man begins to shake so hard Dean has to hold him still.  
  
But the man responds beautifully to that as well, settling almost immediately in Dean’s grip. By the time he’s mouthing at the base of the man’s spine, Dean can let go of his hips again. And when Dean reaches down to push the other man’s legs further apart, the man complies readily, releasing a breathy moan of anticipation as he juts his rear out into a better position.  
  
Dean slowly slides his hands up the man’s thighs, cupping the man’s ass and massaging the flesh in his palms as he spreads it before him. A long, loud groan escapes the man’s throat as Dean drags his tongue across the entrance, and when he finishes the stroke the man pushes back for more. So Dean gives it to him, tongue slowly circling and teasing the man with his stud, and the man buries his face into the crook of his arm, muffling the drawn out groans the attention elicits.  
  
Dean pulls back for a moment to smirk in satisfaction. The other man is really getting off on this, and Dean starts forming a plan for what he wants to do next. But then he notices the other man touching himself, trying to ease his arousal, and Dean quickly yanks the man’s hand away.  
  
“Not until I say so,” he orders. The man makes a strangled noise into the crook of his arm, and he actually pounds his fist against the shower wall a few times in frustration, but he obeys. Dean smiles wide at that, and he decides he doesn’t want to wait any longer. There are so many things he wants to do to this man, he doesn’t know if he’ll have time to do it all in one night.  
  
Standing up, he turns the shower off, pulling the man away from the wall. “Bed,” he growls into the other man’s ear, and the man just nods breathlessly, letting Dean drag him to the bedroom without bothering to dry themselves off.  
  
Dean practically throws the man onto the bed when they get there, plastering himself on top of the other man and crushing their lips together as their erect flesh finally makes contact again. He grabs the man’s hands, pinning them above as he swallows down the man’s groans, and with a particularly forceful thrust of his hips the other man is distracted enough for Dean to click the [handcuffs](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/135486667624/stick-to-the-classics) in place.  
  
The man jerks his mouth away when the cuffs click around his wrists, looking up at the headboard where they’re attached with surprise in his eyes. His jaw drops a little with disbelief as he tugs futily on them a few times, testing them, but when his gaze drops back down, Dean can see it’s a pleased surprise.  
  
“You like those,” Dean murmurs lowly, more a statement than a question, but the man nods his head in answer anyway, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a way that is both wry and impressed.  
  
Dean closes his hand around the the chain of the cuffs as he looks down at the man, the cool metal grounding him as his stomach flutters with anticipation, nerves, he doesn’t know. What he _does_ know, is that the cuffs aren’t going to be enough tonight. Most of the random hook-ups Dean brings home, sure, if they’re adventurous enough. And when he needs that little something extra, the occasional trip to The Pit will do. But tonight, Dean doesn’t want to hold back. The way the other man looks beneath him, gaze heated as the cuffs stretch his beautiful body out over the length of Dean’s bed - it makes Dean want to go all out.  
  
Dean lets go of the cuffs, leaning over to open his bedside drawer, and extracts a large roll of [soft rope](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/135438735384) from its depths. The man’s eyes flash with interest when he sees it, and the response sends an answering flare of heat through Dean’s body, zinging down his spine to the root of his cock.  
  
“You ever done anything like this before?” he asks, breathless with that nervous-anticipation again as he waits for the man’s reply.  
  
“Not personally,” the man answers, every hoarse crack in his voice making Dean’s dick throb in response, “But I’m familiar with what you intend to do.”  
  
This time it’s Dean’s turn to be pleasantly surprised. He hadn’t really expected that from someone he’d picked up at _Queen Mab’s_. For a second he wonders just how _familiar_ someone can be without having actually tried it, but he supposes any red-blooded, porn-watching male is bound to come across a few things at some point.  
  
What it really means, though, is that Dean will be the first to do it. The first to tie the man up and test him, to tap into all that _potential_ he can sense, simmering in the man’s gaze.  
  
“Okay,” Dean croaks, swallowing hard before he can speak again. “Then you just tell me if I do anything you don’t like, alright?” he asks, searching the man’s eyes.  
  
The man nods.  
  
Dean bites his lip against the smile that wants to break out across his face, keeping it down to a sly smirk as he moves down over the other man’s body. Taking one of the man’s legs in his hands, he bends it up and back until the other man’s knee is almost pressed against his chest, then begins wrapping the rope around it. The man keeps perfectly still as he watches, his lips parted and panting as Dean begins [tying intricate knots around the wrapping, holding the man’s leg in that bent position](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/136942077284/nsfw). Then Dean begins working on the other leg, binding it in the same manner, until the man is completely spread out before him, open and exposed.  
  
Dean leans back, appreciating his work. The man is so perfect like this, Dean needs a moment to commit the image to memory. It doesn’t take long before the man starts squirming against his bindings though, testing their give. But once he learns just how limited his range of movement is, he surrenders to it, dropping his head back onto the pillow and giving himself over to Dean’s control completely.  
  
And as he does, the man’s cock _visibly_ pulses harder, leaking out even more pre-come against his stomach.  
  
Dean feels himself grinning wolfishly as he leans down, cradling the man’s taught cock in his hands. The man barely has time to gasp out a small “oh” at the touch, before Dean is dropping his tongue out, dragging his stud over the slit. Crying out, the man’s hips begin to buck in response, but the movement is limited by the ropes around his legs. As Dean takes the head into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue-stud over it, all the man can do is squirm against his bonds, gasping desperately above him.  
  
Dean moves lower, dragging his stud all the way up the line of the man’s cock, before sucking it all the way down, and Dean hears the handcuffs clinking loudly over the other man’s moans as he bucks even harder. But Dean keeps his rhythm steady, tongueing at the man’s flesh with his stud with every slow drag of his lips, until finally the man stops straining altogether, wrapping his fingers around the bars of the bed’s headboard with a broken whimper. When Dean moves even lower, licking his tongue-stud up the crease of the fleshy base, mouthing and rubbing the stud all over and under, all the man can do is take it, moaning and thrashing his head wildly against Dean’s pillow.  
  
But by now, Dean knows where the other man really wants it, where the man is the most sensitive. Dean moves down even further, and flicks his tongue across the man’s entrance. The man’s back rears up off the bed as he cries out, but Dean shows no mercy, relentlessly tongueing in and around the opening, and dragging his stud against it with every lick. Soon the man is a quivering mess, whimpering into the flesh of his own arm and mouthing his own skin like he needs to do something, _anything_. And the needy sounds he makes while he does it go straight to Dean’s cock where it’s rubbing into the bedsheets.  
  
He’s so friggin’ _hard_. And he _usually_ has better control. But the way this man is coming apart, so _beautifully_ underneath him, has Dean reaching down between his own legs, wrapping his fingers around himself to stroke and tease and spur himself on, lapping at the man’s entrance even faster through his own ragged moans. And then, quite suddenly, the man cries out, coming so hard he spurts his climax all over his chest, all the way up to his neck.  
  
Dean stares down at the man in awe. He didn’t even have to touch the man. He’d come just from Dean’s tongue inside him. And that is so ridiculously hot Dean can’t even process it.  
  
“I’m sorry… that was… unanticipated…” the man huffs out breathlessly.  
  
“S’ok,” Dean smiles, amazed. The man is a twitching, come-covered wreck, and it’s such a sight, Dean can’t resist licking the man up, can’t stop jacking himself as he cleans the long sprays of come off the man’s chest with his tongue, then kissing him filthy and deep so the man can taste every bit of himself in Dean’s mouth.  
  
The other man is still trying to catch his breath when he notices Dean touching himself, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from flashing with interest, his tongue unconsciously licking at his lips. Dean smirks at that, and moves up to straddle the man, kneeing his way slowly up the man’s torso as he continues stroking himself. The man’s eyes flick up to Dean’s face, and this time when he licks his lips, it’s deliberate, and it’s an invitation.  
  
Dean smirks again, moving up closer, hovering just over the man’s face. He angles his cock down towards the man’s mouth, and the man lifts his head, mouth opening to take it in. But instead, Dean pulls away, grinning mischievously as the man tries to follow with his lips.  
  
The man glares at him for a moment, but when Dean moves in close again, the other man’s lips part once more, anticipating him. But again, instead of relenting, Dean leans forward, rubbing his cock across the side of the man’s face.  
  
The man turns his head, trying to catch it in his mouth, but Dean is too quick, pulling back to rub himself onto the man’s other cheek. But this time when the man turns again, Dean allows the man’s mouth make contact, dragging his length down the man’s wet lips. When the head comes close to the man’s mouth he tries to take it in again, but again Dean pulls back, tormenting him. Dean is in charge here, and the man finally gets the message, his head dropping back onto the pillow and letting Dean have his way.  
  
Dean keeps teasing the man for a while longer, tracing the other man’s lips with his leaking tip until they’re dark and glistening and beautiful. Then finally, he pushes a little way into the man’s mouth. The other man sucks at his swollen head, licking around it and into the slit with appreciative moans in his throat, and it’s all Dean can to do not shove himself all the way in. Instead he pulls out again, sliding up to let the man mouth down the spine of his length and the heavy flesh at its base.  
  
Then suddenly, Dean feels words being mouthed into the heat of his skin.  
  
“Do it. Fuck my face. I _want_ you to.”  
  
And the game is abruptly over.  
  
Dean grabs the back of the other man’s head, sinking into the man’s mouth with a groan. And the man just swallows him, all the way down, rumbling a hungry moan around the sensitive tip of his arousal with his throat. Dean’s whole body clenches at the vibrations around his cock, the wet heat sucking around his flesh, and it takes him more than a few deep breaths before he can pull back and start thrusting. He tries to be slow, careful with every slide in and out of the man’s mouth, but the man sucks at him so insistently, moaning and gasping in air around it, that Dean can’t help but speed his pace. And the other man just takes it, handling it so effortlessly, so gorgeous with his cheeks flushed and lips dark and swollen around his pistoning length, that before long Dean wants to come right down the man’s throat.  
  
It takes every last inch of self-control to pull away and warn the other man. But the man makes this _needy_ sound of protest that Dean just can’t fight. He finally just lets the man drink him down, throat constricting around his head and milking out every drop as he comes and comes and _comes_.  
  
Dean clings onto the headboard, breathing hard as his legs shake under him. He has just enough strength left to release the man’s handcuffs, before he collapses onto the bed, tremors still running through his body.  
  
The other man leans up beside him, tugging at the ropes still binding his legs, and Dean manages to find coherence enough to be impressed when the man finds the few strategic strings that release him entirely. Moaning in relief, the man stretches out his legs, massaging his muscles for a moment before turning over and curling himself around Dean’s body.  
  
Dean weakly lifts his arm, resting his hand on the back of the other man’s head and tracing his fingers through the thick mess of hair there. The man practically purrs at the touch, nosing contentedly into the crook of Dean’s neck, and a smile twitches at the corner of Dean’s lips.  
  
Thing is, by the time Dean’s caught his breath back, he still doesn’t particularly want to move anywhere, perfectly comfortable just where he is. And as his fingers leave the other man’s hair in favor of stroking down the feathered lines on his back, Dean starts thinking maybe there’s still a lot more he wants to do with this man.  
  
“Hey angel-face, you gonna stick around?” Dean murmurs. The man raises his head, expression carefully neutral as his blue eyes search Dean’s face. Dean reaches up with his free hand, taking the other man’s chin in his fingers and holding his gaze. “Look, I don’t usually ask people to stay… But I haven’t fucked you properly yet and I want you to be well-rested before I do.”  
  
The man’s eyes light up at that, and the side of his mouth slowly curls up into a small smile. “I’ll stay,” he replies, “But if you'd like to tie me up again to make sure I do, I won’t complain.”  
  
Dean huffs out a laugh at that, and he’s still smiling when the man curls around him again, settling in to sleep.

  
_~ tbc_

  
  
Dean: Holy hell angel-face, you might need a safe-word for the last part. Any ideas?  
  
Cas: Um… “trenchcoat”?  
  
diggler: *facepalms* … I am NOT writing that in!

 


	3. Chapter 3

~  
  
_What's in a name? That which we call a rose,_  
By any other name would smell as sweet;  
\-- Juliet, Act II scene ii  
  
~

  
There’s a level of freedom that comes from anonymity. When you don’t know anything about a person, don’t even know the person’s name, hell, when the person’s face is half-covered by a mask… it frees that person to act and react in ways they might not normally let themselves in the harsh light of day, too constrained by consequence, perception, expectation.  
  
So it’s not that Dean doesn’t care. It’s just that he’s learned it’s so much better this way. It enables his partners to give up control completely, becoming blank slates filled with else but sensation, response, heightened awareness and obedience, as Dean takes them to the edge of pleasure, and beyond.  
  
But when Dean is roused from a deep, sated sleep to a pair of criminally plush lips working him to hardness, he almost wants to relinquish the game, concede to the desire to have a name to call out, to thank for such a pleasant awakening.  
  
Almost.  
  
Instead Dean reaches down, fisting his hand into the other man’s dark locks, and gently tugs the man off him. The man’s eyes fly open at Dean’s touch, pupils constricting at the sudden light, and Dean’s breath hitches in his throat, having forgotten in the haze of waking just how blue the other man’s eyes are, how intense his gaze.  
  
The man draws his lips off with a wet pop, grinning mischievously up at Dean. “Sorry. I couldn’t wait any longer,” he explains, his voice rumbling impossibly deeper in the morning, cracking and throaty over the words.  
  
Dean arches his back contentedly, stretching out the kinks in his muscles before he shoots a smirk the other man’s way. “Naughty,” he replies lazily. “I may have to punish you for your impatience.”  
  
The man smirks right back at him. “Promise?” he replies. And though the other man’s smile is all playful humor, his blue eyes darken as he says it, pupils blowing out wide, and Dean knows the man is deadly serious.  
  
Dean’s breath hitches again. He’s not often surprised by anything anymore, but he finds himself blinking in disbelief. He’d been joking more than anything. And sure, the man had made a teasing comment last night about letting Dean tie him up again, but that could’ve easily been passed off as a joke as well.  
  
This time, though, the man’s comment is weighted with _intent_. It’s both challenge, and invitation. It’s an _offer_. Giving Dean _permission_. The only time those things are given so freely are usually when Dean’s at The Pit.  
  
Dean is starting to think this guy is too good to be true. That the man really _is_ some kind of angel, sent to Earth just for him. God knows the potential is there. The man has already proven to possess more than enough of the raw qualities Dean loves to work with. It’s not just that the man is one of the most gorgeous creatures Dean has ever laid eyes on. There’s also the unparalleled responsiveness, uninhibited wantonness, such openness and obedience to Dean’s every command… So far. But _how_ far remains to be seen.  
  
“Turn around,” Dean murmurs, guiding the other man up and across his body. The man eagerly complies when he catches Dean’s drift, quickly straddling Dean’s chest and sucking him down again with an enthusiastic moan. It draws an answering moan out of Dean as well, and he grins as he grips the man’s hips, pulling that luscious rear closer. In the short amount of time they’ve spent together, he already knows how much the man loves this, and it’s time to put that knowledge to good use.  
  
Reaching out with his tongue, Dean licks into the other man’s entrance, and the man instantly gasps around Dean’s cock, hips shuddering in Dean’s grip. Dean dips his tongue out again, teasing the man with the drag of his tongue-stud, and the man lets out a throaty groan, arching and pushing back into it. Dean licks deeper, slower, and it’s not long before all the man can do is moan uselessly around Dean’s length, his own hardness filling out into a heavy weight against Dean’s chest, smearing slick all over it.  
  
Dean doesn’t stop as he discreetly reaches into his bedside drawer once again, feeling around for the accessories he needs. Then he reaches back to the man’s rear, palming downwards until his fingers find the hot flesh of the other man’s scrotum. The man is too far gone in pleasure to realize what Dean’s doing at first, but when the soft leather of the [cuff](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/135482884679/adjustable-leather-strap) slips snugly into place the man huffs out a gasp of surprise, looking over his shoulder at Dean in breathless confusion.  
  
Dean smirks, flipping the man onto his back and leaning over him. “That’s so you don’t come until I let you,” he says, practically a growl. “After last night, I’m not taking any chances.”  
  
The man squirms underneath him, clearly unaccustomed to the sensation of being strapped, and it’s all kinds of beautiful to Dean’s eyes. He slides his palm down the man’s heaving chest, soothing and slow, and finally the man exhales, closing his eyes and giving in to it.  
  
Then Dean reaches down further, taking the man’s cock in his hand and smearing the other man’s slick all over it. And when the cool metal of the [cock-ring](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/135483313259/) first touches his flesh, the man gasps again, eyes flying wide in surprise. Dean slides the ring down the man’s length with the ease of expertise, and when it’s finally in place the man doesn’t stop gasping, writhing at the dual sensation of constraint. “And that’s so you stay nice and hard for me,” Dean murmurs. “But I get the feeling that’s not gonna be a problem with you,” he grins.  
  
Leaning down, he finally presses his lips to the other man’s mouth, swallowing the man’s moans as he fingers the ring circling the man’s arousal. “Have you ever played with pain before?” Dean asks, whispering against the other man’s lips. The man clenches his eyes shut, still squirming, and gives Dean a small shake of his head in response. A small groan escapes Dean’s throat at the admission, once again overwhelmed by the thought of all this beautiful flesh, untested and untried, all for him. Too good to be true.  
  
Dean trails his lips down the man’s throat, mouthing down his chest, licking and sucking the man’s nipple and tugging on it with his teeth until it’s flushing dark and hard. Then he reaches down around the man’s cock for the chain attached to the ring, and extends it up the man’s body, fingers pulling and pinching at the man’s nipple as he fixes the clamp at the end of the chain over it. The man lets out a throaty yelp of shock at the pinch, his hands instinctively reaching for the clamp to pull it off, but Dean grabs the man’s wrists, pulling them away and pinning them to the bed.  
  
“Is this my punishment?” the man gasps.  
  
But it’s not a complaint.  
  
Dean smirks. “Oh this is just the beginning, angel-face,” he replies.  
  
The man begins to squirm, battling the sharp sensation, but Dean keeps him pinned, waiting patiently, and eventually the man stills, nothing more than rapid breaths giving away his discomfort.  
  
Dean leans down again, taking the man’s other nipple in his mouth and gently sucking on it as he twirls his tongue around the nipple ring there, nudging at it and twisting it until the man is gasping in pleasure again. Then, even as the man is arching against Dean’s lips, Dean takes up the remaining loose end of the chain, and unable to fasten it in the same manner this time, he attaches the clamp the nipple-ring instead.  
  
The man doesn’t notice it at first, but as his back arches out into a full stretch of pleasure, the chain takes full effect, one clamp pulling at the man’s flesh directly, the other pulling at his piercing. Immediately the man stills again, his breaths again harsh and loud as he exerts control over the movements of his body.  
  
“You’re taking this _so_ beautifully,” Dean croons in approval, and the other man’s eyes soften at the praise, a small, pleased, smile curving at his lips.  
  
Dean’s fingers trace the smile in wonder, that the man can already be so easily contented with Dean’s satisfaction. How the hell did he get so damn lucky?  
  
“I’m gonna take care of you okay? I promise I’m gonna give you what you need, but you gotta trust me,” Dean finds himself whispering. He knows the man has already implicitly given him his trust, but for some reason Dean wants more this time, wants some kind of… _connection_. He wants a moment to be soft with this man, before he starts to play rough. “Do you trust me?” he murmurs, feeling strangely vulnerable.  
  
The man considers him for a moment, as if looking right into Dean’s soul with those big blue eyes, then nods.  
  
“Good,” Dean breathes, shaky with a relief that surprises him. He clears it out of his throat, swallowing it down and shaking it off, then turns his tone more authoritative.  
  
“Now,” he begins, voice clear and strong and in control, “You will only speak when spoken to, and then the only words I want to hear out of your mouth are ‘Yes’, ‘No’, or ‘Please’ if you want to beg,” he commands. “Do you understand?”  
  
The man’s eyes widen in surprise, and perhaps a little bit of trepidation, but still he replies, “Yes.”  
  
“ _Very_ good,” Dean exhales, pleased. “Now spread your legs for me.”  
  
The man lowers his eyes, turning his face away, and Dean thinks he sees something like a blush rise up on the man's cheeks, before he complies. It’s almost too much for Dean, the sudden display of modesty. As if the man hadn’t spread himself for Dean already. As if he hadn’t spread himself for any man before. And Dean almost loses it. Almost takes the man right then and there. It’s a long moment before Dean regains his composure.  
  
This man is testing Dean’s limits at every turn, and it’s supposed to be the other way around. It’s unsettling, but thrilling in a way he hadn’t expected, and he resolves not to break before he’s ready, no matter how much the other man tempts him to.  
  
“Don’t move,” Dean orders, and the man nods, clenching his fingers into the sheets above his head. Releasing the man’s wrists, Dean returns to his bedside table, searching for what he needs. When he turns back he’s pleased to see the man has obeyed him, hands still fisted tight in the sheets, spread out and displaying himself. Dean moans appreciatively in his throat, popping open the lube and coating his fingers with it.  
  
At the first caress of Dean’s fingers the man’s eyes fly open, his hips bucking off the bed as he gasps out loud. But the gasp quickly tapers off into a whimper, the clamps pulling on his nipples as he bucks and forcing him to be still in order to avoid it, effectively pinning him to the bed without having to tie him down.  
  
Grinning, Dean teases the man’s entrance, playing on what he knows is an extremely sensitive area for the man and reveling in the frustrated moans spilling from the man’s lips, the way the man’s hips squirm and strain in desperation while still trying to avoid pulling on the clamps. It takes a great amount of effort for the man to control his movements, though Dean can tell the man is no less aroused, hole still clenching and spasming at Dean’s every touch.  
  
It’s a long time before Dean rewards the man with what he wants, giving him the thickness of two of his fingers, pushing in with one excruciatingly long, slow thrust. The man whines as Dean gives it to him, mindless with need for it, but Dean just holds his fingers there, for far too long, watching and feeling the man tremble from the inside out. Then, Dean makes the most minute twitch of his fingertips, and the man cries out, hypersensitive to any movement after such a long time without. Dean crooks his fingers again, and again, and the man sobs out half-formed words, frustrated groans that tell Dean the man is on the verge of begging. But instead the man bites down on his lip, remembering that he is not allowed.  
  
Dean is _very_ pleased. He really doesn’t want to have to [ball-gag](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/135484168634/) the man. As tempting as the image is, he likes hearing the man’s voice, likes hearing the desperate, needy sounds the man makes.  
  
“You like having something inside you, don’t you?” Dean murmurs.  
  
The man nods, still biting his lip.  
  
“Speak,” Dean commands. “I want to hear you,” he says, reaching up to pull the man’s lip away from his teeth. “You want more, don’t you?” Dean says, flexing his fingers inside the man, and the man cries out.  
  
“Yes! Yes, please!” he moans, and the sound of him begging for it makes Dean’s cock twitch, hard. He stretches his fingers as wide as he can, then pulls them out of the man in one slow drag, and the man lets out a long, loud cry, beginning with the pleasure of the movement and ending in the frustration of emptiness. Then without any more preamble, Dean pushes in a large [steel plug](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/135485883649/), and the symphony of relieved gasps and groans as he does it is glorious music to his ears.  
  
After that, the man’s wanton whimpering doesn’t stop - his body writhing around the plug, letting the cool metal fill him and prod him from the inside as his hips gyrate, the clamps tugging hard at his nipples with every movement. “You fucking _love_ that, don’t you?” Dean croons into the man’s ear.  
  
“Yes! Yes!” the man whimpers.  
  
“But it’s not enough,” Dean teases. “What you really want is my cock inside you, don’t you?”  
  
“ _Please,_ yes!” the man begs.  
  
“You still need to be punished,” Dean smirks, his lips curling against the shell of the man’s ear, and the man whines at the words, in both frustration and anticipation.  
  
“On your knees. Hands on the headboard,” Dean orders.  
  
It takes a moment for the man to pull himself together, breathing hard as he rolls over and gets to his knees. As he begins to crawl his way to the headboard his movements are stuttered with jerks and yelps - the plug inside stroking him and making him arch in pleasure, which then makes his chains stretch tight, restraining him as the clamps pull against him.  
  
Dean’s eyes catch everything. Every intricacy of the man’s struggle. How the pinch-pain pulling at his nipples only intensifies his pleasure, the shock of it stimulating his body into a constant awareness of sensation. It’s mesmerizing. And Dean has to fight the urge to touch himself as he watches the man’s journey.  
  
When the man finally reaches his destination, reaching up to grab the headboard, Dean sidles up next to him, petting his hair in approval. The man smiles up at him then, content with such a small gesture of affection, and Dean can’t help but lean down to plant a kiss on the man’s lips, chaste and soft. He almost drowns in the look the man gives him when he draws away, already so full of devotion, so willing to please, and Dean swallows hard before he has to turn away, cuffing the man’s wrists to the bed once more.  
  
Dean moves into position, his eyes trailing over winged lines, down the beautiful slope of the man’s spine, leading to the perfect curve of his backside. He takes his time deliberating the ways he wants to break-in that untouched flesh, what marks he wants to see on that unblemished skin. And even as he ponders, the man jutts himself out, slowly, presenting himself for Dean’s consideration. Dean sucks in a heated breath at the gesture, unasked for yet exactly what he wanted, and he finds himself reaching out to touch, pressing and weighing the firm flesh with his palms.  
  
There are a number of tools he has at his disposal, some that will make beautiful red welts, some that will bruise if used a certain way, some that can even draw blood. But this time, he wants to use his bare hands. Wants to feel the heat of that skin against his own. He doesn’t want the clinical distance of wood or whip, he wants to get as humanly close as possible.  
  
His first strike, is perhaps more gentle than what he usually doles out. More of a teasing spank than anything. But it’s still worth the way the flesh of the man’s backside ripples from the contact, the clean _slap_ of it against his palm, and the tight grunt the man makes in his throat nonetheless. His next strike is harder, the man’s yelp a little louder, and this time Dean sees that tell-tale redness begin to blossom on the man’s skin, the shape of his handprint marking that pale flesh. He strikes again, and this time the man cries out, knuckles turning white as he grasps at the headboard tightly.  
  
By now Dean’s sure the man is feeling the sharp bolts of pleasure with each shock of pain - the jostle and jab of the steel plug still inside him with every blow. So Dean continues, striking hard and true, and as the skin of the man’s rear grows red and hot from the treatment, an answering flush rises up on the man’s face as he cries out again and again.  
  
Dean eats it up. The feel of that supple flesh yielding under his hand… The sound of that gravelly voice, wrecked and hoarse over the clinking of cuffs and chains… The sight of the man’s mouth slack and open with his cries… And finally, the man’s cock, leaking proof of his continued arousal, a long trail of white dripping down its flushing dark hardness. Dean doesn’t miss a blow as he reaches for it, grabbing it in his fist and pumping it relentlessly, torturing the man both ways, different ways, at the same time. He doesn’t stop stroking, striking, until the man is screaming, head thrown back and mindless, throbbing inside his fist with the need for release.  
  
But not yet. Not until Dean lets him. Not until Dean removes that cuff of leather from his flesh.  
  
When Dean finally ceases, the man collapses against the headboard, shaking from stimulation and sobbing down great gasps of air. Dean crawls in close, planting soft kisses into the back of the man’s neck and palming down the man’s tattooed wings in slow, soothing strokes. “You did so good, angel. _So_ good,” Dean murmurs in between kisses, and when the man’s breaths eventually calm and his body stops trembling, he finally raises his eyes.  
  
For a moment he looks about, unseeing, as if he doesn’t know where he is or what’s happened. Even when his gaze lands on Dean, his eyes remain unknowing, unrecognizing. Dean can tell that the man has completely lost himself.  
  
And that it’s time to put him back together.  
  
“On your knees again, angel. We’re almost there,” Dean croons against the man’s skin.  
  
It takes a long minute before the man tries to move, and when he does he almost collapses again. So Dean reaches out to help the man raise his hips, gently guiding him back into position.  
  
Then, Dean reaches into his bedside drawer again, pulling out his favorite accessory. The perfect match for the angel in his bed. [A black-feathered cock-ring](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/135491148649/).  
  
Dean doesn’t put it on straight away. No, it’s still not time for that. Instead, he takes the ring in his hand, angles the splay of feathers across the man’s back, and strokes them down the man’s spine. The man keens at the touch of them, and his eyes slip shut as his whole body shivers in response. Dean strokes him again, enjoying the way the black feathers attached to the ring play across the tattooed wings of the man’s back, and relishes the soft sigh that escapes the man’s lips.  
  
Then Dean angles downwards, brushing the feathers against the swollen skin of the man’s rear, and the man bucks at the touch, softness against his stinging hot flesh. Dean keeps stroking, every brush of a feather sending pleasure across the man’s hyper-sensitive skin, and it doesn’t take long before the man is moaning again, hips thrusting and twisting for more as his hole clenches hungrily around the steel plug inside.  
  
The wait is over. Dean quickly rolls a condom on, sliding the feathered ring over it and hissing at the cinch on his long-neglected arousal. As he pushes the ring closer to his base the cool feathers brush against his heated scrotum, and he almost wants to come right there. But he’s done so well so far, and there’s no way he’s going to come now, not until he’s buried inside the man, right to the hilt.  
  
Reaching down between the man’s legs, Dean slowly slides out the steel plug, and even as the man is still whining from the loss of it, Dean pushes himself inside the man’s long-stretched hole, easy and deep. The man’s whine turns into a heavy groan of relief as they lock into place, and Dean hears another groan wrenched out of the depths of his own throat as well. It’s so much heat, and so much tightness after so long, Dean knows he’s not going to last much longer.  
  
He starts thrusting, _pounding_ into the man. And though his grip on the man’s hips is tight he can still feel the man pushing back to meet him, greedy for more of Dean’s heat after the unnatural coolness of the steel plug, the man’s still sensitive skin teased with the feathers of Dean’s cock-ring on every connection.  
  
Dean unclenches one of his hands, reaching up to release the man’s wrists from their cuffs, but the man doesn’t even notice, already gripping the bar of the headboard tight to steady himself against Dean’s thrusts. But when Dean reaches down to undo one of the clamps on the man’s nipples, the man cries out, arching his back as Dean’s fingers stroke and caress the hyper-sensitive nub. Dean removes the other clamp from the man’s nipple ring, and the man stretches out even further, thrusting back even more wantonly on Dean’s cock. Then Dean slides off the man’s cock-ring, fisting the man’s freed length in a hand slick with the man’s arousal, and the man starts screaming again, mindlessly twisting his hips into the added stimulation. Then finally Dean unstraps the last cuff, pries the man’s hands from the headboard and pulls his arms back like reins, riding the man’s ass until the man’s entire body convulses with release, seizing and milking Dean until he comes so hard his vision whites out, the rush of his pulse so loud it sounds like the beating of wings.  
  
Dean collapses onto the bed, utterly spent, and the man collapses across his chest, shaking and panting hard. He drapes an arm over the man’s back, halfway to passed out, and convinced he just found Heaven.  
  
~  
  
Dean sleeps heavy and dreamless, and when he wakes, some hours later, the sun is high and his bed is… empty.  
  
There’s a flash of panic, disappointment, before he hears sounds coming from his kitchen, the smell of something delicious filling the air.  
  
He doesn’t bother pulling on his boxers, padding out of his bedroom naked in his curiosity. When he gets to the kitchen he sees the man at his stove, also in the nude, and cooking pancakes of all things.  
  
Dean’s stomach growls as he sidles up behind the other man, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist. “Good morning,” he says, planting a kiss into the other man’s neck.  
  
“Good morning,” the man replies, pressing back into him, and Dean freezes, completely thrown, when he feels the cold steel of his plug, re-inserted in between the man’s legs. When Dean looks down over the man’s shoulder he receives another shock, seeing the leather cuff re-strapped around the man’s balls. There’s no cock-ring this time though, and the man is only half-hard, as if inviting Dean to instruct him further.  
  
It’s perfection. A growl rumbles deep in Dean’s throat, hungry like the growl from his stomach before, and his grip tightens around the man’s hips as his dick quickly begins to harden.  
  
But before Dean can even think straight again, the man is sitting him down at the table. And instead of sitting across from him, the man straddles Dean’s lap, pouring syrup all over his own chest. Dean is monumentally confused for a moment, before the man rips off a piece of pancake, swiping it over his syruped nipple with a pleasured hiss, and then feeding the piece into Dean’s mouth.  
  
As if Heaven couldn’t be more perfect.  
  
They take turns feeding each other, lazily swiping syrup off the man’s nipples and laughing into each other’s mouths. Somewhere in the middle of the meal, Dean covers his fingers with butter and replaces the plug with them, thrusting idly and bringing the man to full hardness as the man continues feeding him between breathy moans and wiggles.  
  
And usually Dean’s one night stands are _long_ gone by this time of the day. But instead, Dean’s two seconds away from spreading the man open on the table and eating him out until he’s begging to take Dean’s cock again.  
  
“Who _are_ you?” Dean asks, more than a little bit of awe laced through his curiosity.  
  
“Castiel,” the man replies simply.  
  
“Castiel…” Dean echoes, a smile curling over the name even as he raises an eyebrow at the unusualness of it.  
  
“It’s the name of an angel,” Castiel admits sheepishly. Dean blinks at the other man for a second, before throwing his head back in laughter. First the Halloween costume, then the tattoos, and now the name? It just takes the cake. The _angel_ -cake, Dean thinks, and he’s racked with laughter again.  
  
A slow smile spreads across Castiel’s face as he watches Dean, blue eyes dancing with mirth. And Dean hasn’t even caught his breath back before he’s leaning forward, kissing the other man breathless as well.  
  
When he finally pulls away Castiel leans his elbows back on the table, spreading his legs wider and displaying himself as he thrusts and tightens himself on Dean’s fingers. There’s invitation hooded in those blue eyes, but Dean can also see the desire, the _need_ to please him, and that’s not something he’s going to let slip through his hands again, not just yet.  
  
“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, shortening the man’s name and grinning at the little smile that elicits. “I’m Dean.”  
  
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel murmurs, and the sound of his name coming from the other man’s lips sends a thrill down Dean’s spine.  
  
“So Cas,” Dean says, “You don’t have to rush off anywhere this weekend, do you?”  
  
Castiel shakes his head.  
  
“Good,” Dean replies. “Because I’m gonna make you scream my name all day.”  
  
And maybe for a lot longer than that.  
  
_~ fin_

  
_... much, MUCH later, at Dean and Cas’ wedding..._  
  
  
Lucifer: That was a beautiful best man’s speech, Sam.  
  
Sam: ...  
  
Lucifer: Aw c’mon Sam how many times I gotta apologise for Halloween! I told you, I was really, _really_ hammered!  
  
Sam: ...  
  
Lucifer: *pouts* What do I gotta do to get you to talk to me? I’ll do anything!  
  
Sam: ... Shut up.  
  
Lucifer: *gasps excitedly* He said ‘shut up’ to me!

  
diggler: ...couldn't help myself ;p

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **ETA MARCH 2017** : The next part of this verse will be undergoing some major revamps while I add reference pictures as well. Optimistically, it'll be done in a few months? Sorry :s


End file.
